Never Before
by EOlivet
Summary: Following their brief shared glance, Mary finds Matthew outside the drawing room. 1x07 AU.


Disclaimer: The characters described herein are the property of Julian Fellowes and ITV. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: My Downton Abbey house geography is based on a newspaper article about a first floor Highclere Castle bedroom converted to an operating theater during WWI. Otherwise, please suspend your disbelief accordingly.

* * *

The only thing audible at all in the room was noise. The noise of chatter, of glassware, of people shifting in their seats due to the July heat…it seemed everyone felt compelled to somehow make their presence known.

Mary had opted instead to hide – first in plain sight, as she made her way over to the corner of the drawing room where Sybil was sitting unobtrusively listening. Of course it was easy to listen when you were not the one being discussed – by Granny and cousin Isobel, by Mama and Edith. Her sister, of course, had already said all Mary cared to hear earlier in the evening.

Shifting uncomfortably, she was reminded anew of the look Matthew had just given her as he and her father had exited the room (presumably to discuss her – just like the rest of them).

She felt a surge of irrational anger towards her family flare up within her. Could she do nothing to escape Matthew? Obviously, her family was not to know how they had quarreled over her delay, but it was almost as if they enjoyed torturing her with his presence.

"Excuse me," Mary muttered, rising from where no one was speaking to her.

Mama was already giving her a look, but it was beyond Mary's care. They were all perfectly content to stay in this crowded, noisy room, where they could hear nothing but the sounds of each other's chatter, back and forth like a never ending echo chamber, but she couldn't bear it one minute longer.

The hall provided little respite, but at least it was a good deal quieter. Mary softly rested her hand against the wall, trying to regulate her breathing.

All at once, she heard the muffled sound of her father's voice reverberating through the closed doors. Though she couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, she started moving almost involuntarily away from the sound, pushing through to the foyer where it was a good deal cooler and—

Matthew was standing there.

She found his eyes - then looked away for the second time that night, as if the sight of him repelled her. They'd not spoken properly since their talk outside – anything beyond the most insignificant small talk, indirectly filtered through others so as to avoid directly addressing one another.

Unfortunately, their situation now left little choice. She tried a sort of polite half-smile, offering the first inoffensive comment she could manage: "I…felt in need of some air."

In response, she received a tight-lipped smile, but under the circumstances, it was more than she expected. "Yes, well…it is rather stuffy in there. In fact, cousin Robert thought everyone might enjoy sitting outside."

"Oh."

Suddenly, it did feel strangely quiet. Her eyes drifted back to his - both seeming to be aware of the slightly disturbing idea that they were alone in the house, with the exception of the servants…

"Matthew…" she started, needing to somehow fill the silence that seemed threatening to engulf them now.

"Do you know…I think perhaps I should join them. Excuse me…" The words tumbled out in a rush, as he quickly turned and started down the corridor, walking briskly behind the stairs. Whether he intended to find a door to the outside or simply meant to escape her company, she couldn't say.

After a moment, she gave up and began pursuing him. "Matthew!" she called in a harsh whisper, her heels clicking after the softly determined thud of his shoes.

He didn't respond, just kept walking down the seemingly neverending corridor, where she felt almost compelled to follow him. He didn't know his way, and the last thing she needed was to lose him entirely, and have to explain to her father how she let his heir—

Internally, she chastised herself for the slip up. Sometimes, it was so easy to believe that was the only reason she'd yet to answer Matthew's proposal. Of course, that also appeared to be the only reason he was now running away from her.

"Matthew!" Now she picked up her skirts, letting her shoes clack on the floor as she narrowed the distance between them. "Where are you going?"

He turned around to face her – seeming alarmed for an instant before he began shaking his head. His lips turned upwards in a mirthless smile, as he stared at the ground. "I don't know…" he admitted. For a moment, he looked poised to say something else, but thought better of it.

She opened her mouth to respond, when suddenly she heard footsteps approaching in the corridor ahead of them. In a flurry of panic, she'd taken hold of his arm and had led them into the closest room she could find.

Only ambient light streaming through the windows lit the room, whose walls seemed to be pure white. She'd not been down here in years, not since she and her sisters used to explore the house.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the strange rumbling sound of Matthew's seemingly bitter laughter – his hand pressed against his mouth as if to contain it.

She turned towards him hesitantly, as if she had no right to share in whatever joke he was experiencing. "What?" she uttered, quietly – almost afraid to ask.

His back was still turned to her, staring into the open emptiness of the room. "I…" There was hollowness to his voice, or maybe an echo off the white walls. "I've no idea where I am…" Again, there was that muted chuckling. "Do you?"

She ignored the meaning implicit in his question. "This is one of the only ground floor guest rooms here in the house…"

"Oh, for God's sake, Mary!" Still turned rigidly away, the command in his voice stopped her. "This… this place isn't a _house_, it's— oh, what does it matter…" Dejectedly, he sank down on the edge of the bed, as if the very idea of Downton had somehow defeated him.

Once more, she'd upset him without even realizing it. "Well, there's no need to worry," she assured him, trying to sound as calm and in control as possible. "We can leave just as soon as—"

"We—" He cut himself off, remaining silent for a moment before he ventured quietly, "We could _leave_…"

In spite of herself, she turned around to see his eyes searching hers, suddenly ignited with some kind of passionate desperation.

It was abundantly clear he wasn't simply talking about the room, and she attempted to laugh it off. "Quite right. They'll be missing us outside…"

Her meager attempt at humor fell decidedly flat, doing nothing to lessen the intensity in his strident tone. "I mean it," he insisted. "I'll not abandon my duty, of course, but…if something changes…" With a gulp, he tentatively met her gaze once more. "We wouldn't have to stay here."

She'd yet to answer his first offer, and still he was making her a second one. "But I…I can't leave Downton!" she protested, with a nervous laugh. Standing in the middle of the room, she was halfway between the door and him.

"You'd rather...stay here, to be reminded of…everything?" he wondered, with a pleading stare. "I know you've…not decided, but…" She heard him draw in a breath. "If I could be sure of you, don't you see – we could go…anywhere…" His voice was breathless, his eyes shining with anticipation, and she could only watch in bewildered amazement as he held out a tentative hand to her.

In that moment, it all sounded so plausible – as if it could actually happen. To leave Downton and all its associated past behind and simply…start anew. That perhaps dawdling away her life wasn't dawdling at all, but…running.

Somehow, her hand found his, hearing his breath draw in sharply. Their fingers wrapped around each other, as if making some kind of promise to which only this room would be witness.

"Are you sure?" he breathed, and she found his eyes once more. Her lips tried to move, but she couldn't make them work, so she settled for seating herself next to him as a response.

She could see his eyes shimmering as the darkness of evening began to overtake them. "You're sure…" he asked again – his voice gaining confidence that seemed to be quite contagious. Her lips almost involuntarily turned up as she gazed at him.

"Matthew…" His name fell as an unfulfilled promise from her lips, and her hand slipped from his to daringly clasp his elbow.

She'd touched his arm, and now she was in his arms – they had encircled her back, his body almost sagging against her even as he held her. Pulling away, he trailed a hand lightly down the side of her face. "I…" he started, his voice echoing in the dark. "Oh, Mary, I—"

They seemed to move at the same time – their lips finding one another, as his other hand slid down to her waist.

Then suddenly, he'd drawn back once more. "I knew it, I—"

Again, she claimed his lips, not wanting to hear any more undeserved platitudes. Now was not the time for conversation, and she opened her mouth more fully to his.

Their kisses grew increasingly heated, her control seeming to dissolve into the soft moonlight barely illuminating the room, and the heat of their evening clothes clinging to their skin…

"Please…" she murmured against his mouth, her arms going around his neck. Her instinctual begging lacked sense and purpose, and she was unsure at what it was even meant to accomplish, except that she was now pulling them both down more fully onto the bed.

Her mouth left his, trailing down to his neck and his hands were in her hair and she knew – she _knew_ where this would lead. At the same time, she also knew she wanted him, and perhaps…_perhaps_ if he knew her, she wouldn't have to tell him about…before…

She opened her eyes – could see nothing but the dim outline of his face…his body. The darkness hid her knowing hands, emboldened by desire as she worked off his jacket …

"Are you—" he asked again, and she interjected with another kiss. His voice had wavered, and she was almost shaking with the expectation of what would happen next, trying to project confidence enough for them both.

Shifting underneath his body, she began wordlessly directing his actions - gliding his hands…under her dress, while hers worked more purposefully at the front of his waist. His fingers were trembling and she tried to reassure him with appreciative moans and stroking hands – using lust as a cover for her nervousness.

It was dark – so dark she couldn't see – could barely hear over the pounding of her own heart that increased in excited anxiety as each layer separating them was haltingly uncovered. Breathless and shaking beneath him, she guided him – hiding her sudden surge of fear underneath the surrounding darkness that both hid and revealed them to one another.

They pressed their bodies together, speaking only in whispers of breath that drew in sharply as she brought him into her. Her back arched – abruptly gripped by panic until his hand caressed her cheek. One simple act of unknowing reassurance, and slowly, slowly she began to relax around him – _it was alright_. She was…safe.

That intoxicating feeling of safety blossomed into a kind of blissful warmth as she gave herself over to the unexpected wave of emotions coursing inside her body. She moved with him, rising to meet him.

A surprised groan resounded in her throat, and she heard him panting softly above her. Her hold on his back tightened with each occasional brush of her lips against his. That lovely cream-colored dress was gathered at her waist, and it rustled against her skin with every slight shift of his movement within her. She ran her arms up and down his – touching the fabric of his shirt, the thicker cloth of his waistcoat and she felt—she felt…

This could be her wedding night.

She bit her lip, torn between physical pleasure and emotional pain. Oh God, she wanted more than anything in this moment to be his wife, but then…she would have to tell him. She couldn't keep it from him – she…she loved him too much. If she'd not been sure of it before, she most definitely knew now.

Squeezing her watery eyes shut, she simply held onto him – feeling him in every way, moaning ardently above her. She could tell he was close – and the terror she should've felt was supplanted by the idea it was almost over and…and…and…

Suddenly, his body was quaking and hers was reacting almost of its own volition. His ecstatic exclamations sounded bittersweetly against her ear as their bodies rose and fell together a final time and…it was over.

Over. She'd survived. He'd survived. She was in his living, breathing embrace and now she felt the tears almost involuntarily traveling down her cheeks.

Mary had never done this before.

He kissed her and kissed her, holding her to him as he murmured sweetly into her hair, "Oh, Mary…it's alright. It's alright…"

His words brought back the sickening reality of her situation, which was most definitely not alright. Still, she allowed herself one more fleeting moment in his arms before she swallowed her tears and pushed herself away from him.

Somehow, he still didn't seem to believe anything was wrong. "Well, I…I believe this…rather spoils the surprise on our wedding night," he remarked, lightly but nervously. "But we never have done things properly, I suppose…"

Her eyes shut once again, as she bit down on her lip – pulling the proper things up and smoothing the proper things down, attempting to restore at least part of her world to the way it was before.

She then heard him shifting on the bed, clearly trying to reach for her, but she avoided his arms as she stood, walking to the corner of the room. Taking several deep breaths, she prayed her voice would hold steady.

"I think…" she began, before she cleared her throat - hoping to infuse her words with more certainty. "I think I shall rejoin the party…"

He was silent, but only for a moment. "Quite right," he agreed. "I'll join you in a bit – perhaps we can…make the announcement then?"

Concentrating on her breath, she placed a hand to her chest. "I'm…not sure what you mean." Even she couldn't make the lie sound convincing.

There was a brief chuckle; obviously he thought she was joking. A note of uncertainty crept into his tone as he replied, "Why, our…engagement, of course."

"But I have yet to give you my answer," she managed smoothly.

The chuckling turned sharper, more pointed. "How…" She heard his hand traveling back and forth across the bed. "How was _this_…not your answer?" The uncertainty now held an undercurrent of desperation.

"Well, there _are_ other considerations…" The excuse sounded hollow, even to her ears. "It is a rather….important decision."

"But you said…" Now his voice had cracked slightly. "After what we just…" he trailed off, before suddenly bursting out, "This changes everything!"

"Oh, Matthew - I just need a bit more time!" she exclaimed, weary of the façade. "Please, I—I simply don't know!"

"You don't…know?" he repeated, sounding aghast. Now she could practically hear him swallowing in the dark – knowing she'd caused his upset, and glad of the darkness that shielded her own self-loathing.

Then she nearly jumped as she heard his hand slap against the wall. "It's this place!" he exclaimed, almost frantically. "You've been blinded by its…values. But you're better than that – we're _better_ than that, don't you see?"

It was her turn to let out a brief, nervous laugh. "Oh, don't talk nonsense," she told him. Her stomach lurched as she spoke. "My decision…has nothing to do with where I live. There are many other things to consider—"

"There's only one thing to consider." His voice was low and tremulous, but she recognized the determination from their prior quarrel. If only that were enough, she thought, feeling her resolve weakening. How she wanted so much to embrace him, to…accept him…

His sense of morality could withstand a slip up between those promised to be wed. But if he knew what he thought he'd taken was no longer hers to give...no, she couldn't possibly. There was no way she could tell him now.

"I'm sorry…" she offered, feebly – vainly attempting to keep her voice from cracking. "You will have my answer soon, I promise."

Her only response was a slamming door followed by…silence.

In spite of herself, Mary traveled back to the bed, smoothing the bedclothes, assaulted by memories of their passion, their…love, kept hidden by the night. She wondered if he might ever forgive her for everything she'd done…and not done. Perhaps in time, once their future became clearer.

Yes, that was all she needed. Just a bit more time. After all, really nothing had changed.

And yet…everything had changed.

The End.


End file.
